Flower child with a fullmetal heart
by haganenobeato
Summary: Following a string of robberies targeting military-backed suppliers, Riza and Ed put up shop as florists. Mama!Hawk. Parental!RizaEd


**East City, Amestris - Summer of 1912**

Edward Elric was annoyed.

The cobblestone roads of East City made for a bumpy ride in the backseat of Colonel Mustang's vehicle, despite Lieutenant Hawkeye's driving skill. He swayed every so often, catching the skin of his cheek in the creases of his automail, and it simmered him down to the likes of a petulant child.

"Why can't you go undercover? You act like a kid, having the Lieutenant mother you around all day."

Mustang scoffed, offended. "You don't mother me, do you, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir, of course not," she intoned, smiling slyly and glancing in Ed's direction.

"Do I have to wear a wig?"The thirteen-year-old prodded.

"No," glared the Colonel.

"Can I wear a wig?"

"Shut up." A gloved hand opened the compartment facing the Colonel's seat, producing a manilla folder from its depths. "I trust you've read the briefing I sent you, at the very least."

"I thought you were supposed to keep your gloves in glove compartments." He leaned on his automail hand. "No, I used that oversized stack of paper to clean up the mess Al's cat left behind."

He watched as the coat sitting on the Colonel's shoulders trembled and his fingers curled into a fist. "Fullmetal."

Turning the driver's wheel, Lieutenant Hawkeye sighed. "Sir," she began, lacking inflection. "We are almost there, I suggest you briefly brief him now."

Mustang's shoulders slumped, "Fine. There's been a string of robberies targeting businesses that have direct connections to the military."

Ed clutched the file Mustang passed to him with photos of broken glass and shattered displays from a plethora of shops. Guns. Gems, Paper, Other Office Supplies. Fabrics.

"Cenz and a small selection of the goods are taken from each locale. Evidence suggests the use of alchemy to break in."

Squinting his eyes, a finger ghosted over the glossy paper, half-expecting to feel the jagged concrete with tell-tale signs of transmutation. Ed glanced up, curious. "But why shops with military connections? How did they even get that information?"

"The military's expense budget has virtually no limit. Those in contract with the military are very, very successful businesses. It isn't the first time since the war that defectors with anti-military sentiments or the like attempt to hurt the military in underhanded attempts. It seems procurement is no different."

The stone buildings of East City whizzed by just outside the car window; Ed's eyes followed as the different grays, vibrant signs, and the bustling city dwellers melded together. The royal blue hue of the military uniform remained constant through each block, intermingling with civilians. The young alchemist heard stories of those who turned in their silver pocket watch to salvage vestiges of their humanity following the war that ravaged the East. Most are never heard from again, electing to retire into the countryside with anonymity. "But why undercover? It's a stakeout, not a meet and greet."

"If you were paying attention, alchemy is involved and we can't just send regular military police. They hit in broad daylight and during business hours." Mustang singed his high-horsed arrogance into his words. "We've tried sending in other state alchemists, but they are easily recognizable and were anticipated. We are strapped for time to call in Central-based State Alchemists so that leaves us with you, our newest and youngest." Ed could practically hear the smirk on his face. "You also happen to fit the bill in more ways than one."

"Like what?"

"You're short enough to pass off as a 10 year old."

Red flooded his vision. A vein popped. Blood boiled from the insinuation that he was smaller that the grain of sand beneath the Colonel's boot and it roared in his ears like a locomotive at top speed. His clenched fist was wound up tighter than a stressed metal coil.

The car stopped abruptly and his face smashed into the back of the seat in front of him . Even Colonel Matchstick was rubbing his chest from the whiplash, gasping, "Lieutenant, wh-"

"We're here," she deadpanned as she exited the car, rounding the car to open both their doors.

Ed nodded with bowed head muttering a meek "Thank you" to her. The alley was cramped, bordered between two edifices. Dumpsters, puddles, and an overturned metal can decorated the cramped passthrough and it smelled of steamed garbage. "Is this a very, very successful alleyway?"

The Colonel's coat-tails flapped in the sharp wind, opening the back door of a shop and allowing the Lieutenant to enter first, before he signaled Ed to enter. "It wouldn't be prudent to have the owners enter through the front door."

Ed made a face, following Hawkeye.

They were given names, wardrobe, someone else's rooms, and a flexible backstory. The owner of the actual flower boutique was a mother and her son who were instructed to lay low while they worked within their home. He and Hawkeye stepped in as Daisy and her son, Victor from the West in their stead - in case anyone questioned it.

The outfit they gave him was plain. His requests for more reds or leather met with immediate rebuke.

It was a strange sight to see the Lieutenant in a dress. He expected her to be just as imposing as she looked with the military uniform, but she captured the softness of his own mother. Her hair had grown since they'd met nearly two years ago, fine blonde hair now past her shoulders. The change made him blink twice and even the colonel commented.

Spending a quiet afternoon to catch what could technically be a flower robber felt tolerable for the teen, even with his pressing business following leads for a philosopher's stone.

After settling in, Hawkeye reappeared from the backroom with a subtle color to her cheeks, and ensured that the place was empty. She informed him that Mustang had just left and they were ordered to stay put until further notice.

"Damn you, Matchstick," he grumbled, slouching onto the glass top of the counter and groaning. As if on cue, his stomach growled..

Her stoic expression remained unchanged. "Clean the glass, I'll prepare dinner."

It wasn't long before comforting smells wafted from the kitchen. The aromas of onion, carrot, broth, and chicken reminded him of the soup his mother used to make for him and Al when it was cold outside.

She re-entered the salesfloor with a two bowls of steaming soup and a loaf of bread atop a serving tray.

They stood while they ate, using a glass merchandiser as a table. She broke the silence first, "The Colonel says that it would take at least two rolls of duct tape to stop you from talking. I guess he hadn't thought of trying chicken soup."

"Was..was that a joke?" He dipped the bread into the piping-hot broth. "Didn't know you had it in you, Lieutenant." He lifted his head to look at her as the bread touched his tongue. It was salty and tasty and comforting in a way he hadn't had a chance to experience in a long time.

He ate the rest of his dinner in silence with her, once again underestimating the Lieutenant. It made him feel awkward that he pegged her as some two dimensional soldier. But she didn't _say_ much so he could hardly blame himself.

Still, that night under the sheets of a stranger's bed he wondered how she arrived at being a soldier, willing to tolerate that egotistical Colonel.

He woke the next morning, sunshine spilling in and Hawkeye softly beckoning him to prepare for the day with a familiar tone simultaneously strange and welcomed. He bathed, dressed, and oiled his automail before going down to the store's main room.

Hawkeye had already opened shop, placing the bouquets she had arranged the night before onto the front window and along the aisles of the small shop. She mentioned he had just missed the Colonel and that he had left some books for him in case boredom struck.

A jolt of excitement suddenly coursed through him, the tips of his digits itching to look at something other than botany. Ed found his seat at behind the counter, bringing the thick books forward. At last, the Colonel finally came around to thinking outside of his self-centeredness. He took the first book, printed with a large flower in front. He cocked his head sideways to read the spines of the others.

 _Nothing but flowers, that bastard._

He pushed them aside angrily and as far as his arms would let him without slipping off the stool.

Mornings were always slow, and it wasn't until evening when the sun hung low spilling yellow-orange light through the storefront that most patrons came through the door. Even when slow, they weren't allowed to leave the building under the pretense of high-risk endangerment.

But Ed failed to see why he had to sit behind a counter and work like a service boy, ringing up lovestruck or apologetic men. Or having to deal with the same old lady who pinched his cheeks and praised him for helping out his mother. His nose wrinkled at the mere thought of her cloying perfume, buying daffodil after daffodil, and he had it up to his eyebrows having the same conversation with her: " _Aren't you just the littlest helper?"_ Yes, the littlest.

He got bored of fidgeting with the register key, tracing its worn edges.

Entangled by his weed-like restlessness, he began to finger through _The Complete Garden Flower Book: How to Grow Over 600 of the Best Performing Varietie_ s, scanning through it absently as it detailed the different genera and species of flowers.

"Did you know, Lieutenant, that broccoli is a flower?" He uttered his "fun fact" from the book into the quiet of the room.

He was met with silence when he knew she was within earshot, standing at the other end of the checkout counter. They hardly said anything to each other while no one was around, which wasn't outside of her normal behavior from the spare times he'd been around her. However, he'd be lying if he wasn't missing _some_ interaction or to have someone to purposely annoy and it was hardly the second day of playing "florist" with "Mother Hawkeye."

True to her nature outside of this cover, Hawkeye worked diligently on running the floral business in addition to her main task - which he was probably performing poorly at. She had a keen eye for inconspicuously scoping out the clients that walked through their doors. Remembering last night's supper surprise, Edward's became interested in knowing more about the Lieutenant of little words.

Ed tried again, "Did you-"

"Is a lieutenant your friend, _Victor?"_ Her voice was smooth but scolding, eyes never tearing from the custom order; hearing only the pen scratching against the paper.

 _Oh, right. Idiot._ "Did you know that **broccoli** is a flower, Dais-mam?" He tripped over the end of the sentence and her stone cold look bore into him, wordlessly reprimanding. A cold sweat suddenly creeping down his cheek and gulped. _Scary._

Hawkeye set the pen down slowly, removing the faux glasses from her face. Her gaze held no ill intent, it made him want to dot his i's and cross his t's. "I understand it's difficult being so young and moving into this so suddenly, darling. But we must remember our choices when we made our beds this morning."

His cheeks felt hot from embarrassment, bowing his head. "Oh-I-uhm. I'm sorry," he mumbled. She expected professionalism out of a State Alchemist and here he was talking about flowery heads of cabbage, potentially blowing their covers.

"No need for apologies." Hawkeye smiled at him reassuringly and his shoulders immediately released the tension in response. Then, she disappeared into the backroom after filing the requests into bins she had labeled.

The Lieutenant artfully took to her cover, and to everyone but Ed, was a great conversationalist.. Or perhaps, taking on a character was just part of her skill. After all, he only knew this woman as a shadow to the Colonel and what he saw in front of him. She said very little else.

Oh, and the fact that she cooked extraordinary meals.

Through the length of the hallway, herbs and seared meat whetted his appetite the closer he got to the kitchen. "Is being a skilled chef a part of the cover too?"

She turned slightly to see him. "No, but it's a lot better than eating cold cereal and rations," she explained. "Yet another thing I still hold from my youth."

"All your cooking has been delicious so far," he shyly inched forward. The last time he bothered watching someone cook was with granny and that was _ages_ ago. "What are you cooking today?"

"A simple stew."

"Do you add milk to it too?"

"Cream, actually."

"Cream? Why?"

"The stew is thicker with cream, brings out the flavors a bit more."

"Oh," was all he added, a bit fascinated. "Do you need any help?"

"If you'd like," she pointed to the potatoes and carrots. "Think you can handle peeling some vegetables?"

"Yes, I think so."

He wished he had Alphonse with him, but he was unsure if Al would feel sad at the fact that he wouldn't be able to taste any of it and Ed got mad all over again that he was stuck in this operation. "Has the Colonel said anything about this?"

"No," she said, stirring the pot. "We expected the suspect to hit already. We aren't sure why they haven't."

"Bad intel?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," she laughed. "But if nothing happens by tomorrow, we'll stop and that'll be it."

He begged forgiveness to his mother's resting place back in Resembool. Surely, she'd be turning in rapid revolutions if he even thought that Hawkeye's home cooking rivaled hers or Granny.

And to top it off, she didn't question when he left milk untouched sitting next to his finished plate. She stared at the full glass, then at him before she whisked the tray away to the sink.

It became something he looked forward to as the third morning rolled in.

By then, he stopped thinking of ways to break the old cash register and began to study Hawkeye when he could. The military spared no expense when it came to her training. Before this, he'd never consider her delicate or any iteration of the word. From what he knew, Hawkeye's chosen mastery lied with guns and firearms and in his mind, they were objects for people rough around the edges - dark and violent; bringers of bloodshed.

She demonstrated immense care in the flowers she worked with and her eyes softened whenever she meticulously configured a bouquet. Was it pride? Or getting lost in a memory? He didn't know her well enough to pinpoint it.

Her expert-level knowledge across different flowers and their archaic symbolisms surprised him. It got to the point where he cross-referenced her facts with the books that laid abandoned at the wayside.

Now Ed knew she could hold a conversation, but he never paid attention how she commanded the direction of flow of each exchange, gracefully handling rowdy customers missing their orders due to the mission or patiently helping the elderly who were hard of hearing. Never failing to greet them with a warm, glowing smile.

It churned his stomach in a way he couldn't explain. It made him feel sad and happy, maybe angry or captivated in similarities he didn't want to voice, even as it bounced within the confines of his head.

Regardless, she was a woman with an impressive skillset. He was just in charge of checking out customers when they came by and delivering "excellent customer service".

He observed her plucking the stems of the latest bouquet and nestling them back down into a different position. He used the ache in his bum from the uncomfortable stool to stand up and walk out his legs, moseying over to her direction with as much discretion as his metal limbs allowed him. Ed realized she managed to turn a bunch of things that grew out of the ground into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement for someone to enjoy, almost like a work of art. And he supposed that's what florists were all about.

Hawkeye caught him from the corner of her eye. She took a step back so he could see the baby's breath encasing calla lilies and white roses, "Do you like it?"

"You're surprisingly good at this, L-" he paused, looking at her. "You're really good at this, mom." The word felt odd on his tongue.

She smiled a little. "I used to do this a lot when I was younger."

He knew the opportunity for scarce information when he saw it. He pictured a miniature blonde girl with a serious face, glaring at flowers and it amused him. "You don't talk a lot about when you grew up."

"You haven't asked."

He quirked an eyebrow, "Is that all it takes? Asking?"

"Mmhm," she assured. "If you do so nicel."

She grew up in the countryside like he did in a town he's never heard of. er mother died very young, she was left with her father, who owned a farm, and a garden her mother used to tried to keep the garden alive while her father was busy with work. To her, the countryside seemed like an entirely different world compared to the city.

Her shared memories shed warmth on his painful imageries of Resembool. It was nice to finally relate to her.

She elaborated about the flowers, when they were in bloom and how to care for them. Which prefer the sun and which need to stay cool and in the shade.

Unabashedly, he asked where she learned so much about flowers while gaining her sharpshooting skills.

She answered, "Girls aren't limited to one or the other in the same you aren't limited."

He was silent for a moment, embarrassed to be caught in such a simple way of thinking. He shrugged off her statements, nonchalantly adding, "I know that, like Winry and her obsession with automail."

Chuckling lightly, she nodded her head. "That's right."

Her completed bouquet touched the oval display bathed in sunlight and he squinted from the light that refracted from the clear glass.

"Actually, will you do me a favor?"

He nodded eagerly, "Shoot."

"Will you run to the back and grab two or three more of these lilies from the back?"

"On it." Ed scampered away and back, producing two long-stemmed, white flowers at the peak of their bloom.

She gingerly parted the baby's breath and instructed him, "Place one here."

"What if I break them?"

"Then be careful."

He wrestled briefly with the decision of using his metal arm or his unsteady left hand, eventually opting with his right hand. He concentrated to stabilize his right hand and trying to prevent himself from crushing the stem. It slipped through neatly and she created another opening for the last flower.

"There, not too difficult."

He craned his neck to catch a better glimpse of the bouquet. The tiny white petals of the baby's breath looked like clouds as they encased the lilies and sparse roses, as if they delicately floated above the vase. He grinned at her like a child and felt emboldened to ask her more.

The bell above the door rang and Hawkeye turned to welcome the patron per Daisy's style.

But an enormous gust knocked them both off their feet. Shattered glass flew by them indiscriminately. The force of the explosive gale overturned several vases off its displays. Ed pushed himself on his elbows, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the patternless shards of ceramic and glass that littered the tile floor from digging into his skin. Gaining traction was difficult with the water spilled all over.

Hawkeye stirred in front of him, tiny cuts marking her cheeks.

Climbing to a stand, he trekked a few steps. The windows were shattered, the entire place was a mess and his dinky little register had been emptied.

His head turned sharply, alerted by a noise coming from the backroom..

"I'll be right back."

Hawkeye groaned, "Edward, wait."

He stopped because she broke cover. "It'll only take a second."

She propped herself on her arm from the ground. Her hair was disheveled and the water it soaked in didn't help either. She winced, "Wait, that's an order."

From where he stood, Ed was able to see the opening to the back room and the door to the alleyway as it swung open momentarily as someone slipped out. "It'll be quick, I promise!"

He glanced around the corners, seeing a brief fluttering of white. Ed looked back towards store and down the backstreet. He'd just check around the corner.

He darted out swiftly, the latent itch for some action encouraged the rash decision. The movement in his legs began to lag and a sweet aroma started to overwhelm him.

The edges of his vision grew dark and his consciousness slipped.

The young alchemist came to, groaning and with an annoying lack of movement.

His head felt ten times heavier and groggier than he remembered. "Why can't I breathe?" Ed cleared his throat, wetting the roof of his mouth. The coarse texture of rope rubbed harshly on his flesh wrist "Why can't I move?"

Someone shushed him like a mother soothed her infant, "There, there. You're safe now."

A hand patted the top of his head and he jerked away. That gagging perfume reentered his senses and he looked up. "You're-" he started. "You're that lady with claws for hands."

"The Olfacere Alchemist, though my abilities have nothing to do with olfactory senses, but more so with gasses. Bradley sure does have a peculiar sense of humor.

"This is going to sound cliched but why are you doing this?"

"I am trying to help Amestris see that we don't need to rely on the dictatorship of this government. That without them, we can be successful."

"You don't make a positive outcome out of a negative one. You're stealing from people who worked hard for their livelihood." He tugged on the knot. "Why am I tied up? You think you can loosen them up? Are you behind these robberies?" Questions upon questions dispersed in his mind. How had this psycho remained uncaptured?

"People need to be brought low in order to see how broad their horizons are. I was involved in the early stages of the Ishvalan conflict as a State Alchemist. Our little village of Hartford-"

"Lady," Ed interrupted. "I don't need to know your life story, you've already pissed me off by pinching my cheeks all the goddamn time."

"Quiet!" She roared scathingly, booting the side of his chair. The strength in her kick tipped him over to his side.

Ed saw stars momentarily from the fall.

"Oh, oh, oh," the woman cooed, hauling the chair back to its standing position. She cradled his face in some kind demented, short-lived concern for his well-being. "Are you all right sweetheart, are you hurt?" She tutted, stepping away from him. "Where was I? Ah yes, my hometown was nestled in between tall hills and mountainous terrain that acted as natural border and kept us safe throughout the war. But we were still very close, Naturally, we were the first sent to 'patrol' and 'keep the peace'.

"I left my husband behind to do my duty and I realized, soon after, that I was expecting. I was ecstatic, overjoyed, overwhelmed, sweet Edward. They sent me home and I gave light to my Armand with rich brown hair and eyes the color of emeralds. He was beautiful and healthy and five years later, we were still untouched by the war. I never went back to the field. I didn't want to.

"I heard the news, the massacre and the state alchemists called to arms and how many of them turned in their pocket watches."

He glared at her, "A defector."

Her shoulders twisted around sharply. "Yes," she hissed. "A defector." Her footfalls were loud as she closed in on him, slamming her hands on the handles of the chair. "Have they ever mentioned what they do to those who turn in their pocket watches?"

Stunned, Ed shook his head. The rich scent of flowers wafting around him became sickening the closer she stood.

"The day after I turned in my silver leash, I come home from market to find my husband dead, throat slit on the floor, and my baby - vanished. That is how they thank those who would dehumanize themselves for the greater cause."

He tapped a heavy foot. "And what does that have to do with me?"

"I am trying to save you, sweetling. Imagine my horror when I realized there's a child soldier amongst the ranks. How low must the military go? Enlisting boys of such tender age."

"I joined on my own free will. No one _forced_ me, you old coot."

"Did you join because you had no other choice? Because there was no other option? No way to move forward?"

His mouth opened and closed without producing any words. It happened a few more times before he stopped.

"I'll take your silence as an answer, child. It's not your fault in the slightest. The military is well-versed in the art brainwashing with all the propaganda they feed you. But now you don't have to - you can come with me, I can be your mother, sweet Edward."

"Not a chance," he grimaced, rocking in his sweat, and kicked his feet into the ground. The wood chair sprung into the air and the legs splintered from the impact, crumbling the rest of its integrity for his release. He curled his feet, swinging his arms around during the fall before he rolled into a stand. His palms touched and he managed a small blade to slice through the thick rope.

Ed rubbed the raw skin from the rope burn. He glared at the woman in white, "I've made my choices, lady. No one made them for me." Electricity sparked with the smell of transmuted steel and the glint of his freshly altered blade.

"If you are so far gone, then it leaves me with no choice, my sweet." With the agility of a soldier, she swept along his feet, but he was quick too. Her flesh palms married together and aimed at his right wrist and his mind began to swim again. "They can't have you too!"

He lost his footing as the world moved. The right side of his body felt significantly lighter and he shut his eyes and opened them to find his automail right hand cut clean off.

 _She transmuted… like I do..._

His assailant's crooked fingers curled before him, feeling the scruff of his neck about to yanked if he didn't hit the floor first. Blood pounded in his ears. He didn't know which was worse: the sure beating he was about to receive from this crazy old bat or the equally sure beating he deserved from disobeying the Lieutenant's orders.

He wasn't given much time to ruminate as the door to his right kicked open. The forceful impact distracted her enough for him to stabilize against the floor. The crack of a gunshot ricocheted off the walls and filled his ears.

"Step away from my son."

He felt the chill of her demand, but an urge wanted to caution her to keep her distance.

The hem of her flowy, floral sundress billowed with each step forward. The metal sheen of the revolver contrasted the delicate look of her hands. The Lieutenant's combination of feminine beauty and deadly skill reminded him of Teacher's famous "just a passing housewife" phrase. Ed concluded she definitely looked the part. Her stern, but modulated voice masked the angry undertones he picked up with each of her words. She was livid though her face didn't show it. Hawkeye cradled the shotgun, finger on the trigger and her eye trained on her mark's movement.

The crone cackled, "I know that the Fullmetal Alchemist isn't your son, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Though you do dress up prettily. Turn away and no one else has to get hurt-"

Hawkeye cocked the shotgun,cutting the older woman off. The shell casing clattered on the floor. "Did I stutter?" Her voice was as smooth and calm, but Ed felt the commanding undertones in her delivery.

The woman held her palm, gritting her teeth as the red blood flowed out of her hands and dripped to the floor.

Her brown eyes tore away from the woman to look at him, "Step away, Edward."

"Oh no, you won't! You won't have him too!" He heard her shout. The Olfacere Alchemist kicked his detached automail blade into the air. She caught it with her off-hand faster than Ed could react, thrusting it towards him..

He flinched, holding up his flesh arm on instinct.

Hawkeye stood in front of him, her hand deflecting his own weapon from harming him. She shoved the butt of her weapon into the woman's diaphragm.

The crone doubled over and Hawkeye spun her firearm to hit her square in the jaw. He watched as she crumbled onto the floor, chanting in low tone, "You can't have him, you can't have him."

The door at the other end and behind them swung open. Within a matter of moments, Amestrian soldiers filled the room, surrounding the alchemist crumpled on the floor.

A sergeant came up to them, saluting. "Colonel Mustang is on his way, Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Hawkeye nodded and Ed noticed the red of her palm as she returned his gesture.

"Will your hand be all right?" Ed finally asked, the adrenaline putting his mind through a surreal feeling.

She looked down at it, raising it so the blood glistened in the dull light. "Yes, it's nothing but a flesh wound. Perhaps a few stitches."

They both stopped with the sounds of struggle and shouting from across the room, "I knew it! I knew it!" They turned in unison. The moments that followed occurred so swiftly, but at the same time, slowed to a crawl.

The deranged form of a woman ran toward them eyes crazed and holding a blade transmuted from her handcuffs. His missing hand and the waning adrenaline jumbled his thought process. He tried to think of a time when someone wanted his life so desperately and came up blank.

The light nearly vanished from his eyes. What remained seeped in through finger cracks of a sharpshooter's hands. His body shifted away from the assaulter, Ed realized, and not of its own accord. He jumped from the unexpected shot that fired nearby. The legs beneath him froze, but he was held tighter to a warm body and breathed in a spicy scent, floral but earthy with clove nuances. Like carnations. Like home.

Metal clambered over the concrete and an adult body fell over like a ragdoll. He remembered the sound from his own mother fainting and her attempts to prove she was strong. Ed noted it was an odd thing to remember so suddenly, as he blinked the light back. He saw Hawkeye's face, her slender fingers tapping both sides of his cheeks.

"You're all done here, Edward. Do me a favor and go find Colonel Mustang."

Edward about-faced towards the exit, seeing the shocked faces of the soldiers staring behind him. He stepped forward once or twice before curiosity got the best of him and he began to follow where the gaping mouths looked.

A gentle touch nudged his jaw to face the open door. He felt a hand on his back guiding him along. "There's no need for you to see this," she whispered calmly into his ear. "Please go find the Colonel."

Edward reached the street. His mind dazed and his feet moving on their own. A car screeched to a halt with Mustang as the driver. He clutched the warmth over his shoulders and couldn't remember when her pink cardigan began to rest on his shoulders.

* * *

Flowers:

Daisy - purity, innocence, loyal love, beauty, patience and simplicity

Calla Lillies - Purity, holiness, and faithfulness

White roses - Purity, Innocence, Sympathy, Spirituality

Baby's breath - Long lasting love

Daffodils - Springtime and Rebirth

Pink carnations - a Mother's love

Hope you enjoyed~ Feedback always appreciated!


End file.
